kiss me on the mouth (and set me free)
by otpimisticlesbian
Summary: Nicky comes to Daddy's cell with empty hands and a broken heart.
1. Chapter 1

"Yo, Duarte, mind if I come in?"

Nicky half heartedly knocks against the doorway, already knowing what the answer will be.

The ginger is, after all, the Latina's favorite former customer. Even though she would never admit it out loud.

Daddy doesn't look up from the magazine she's leafing through, and instead chooses to beckon Nicky forward with a single finger.

"Don't wanna know where that finger's been," Nicky jokes, clasping her hands in front of her stomach as she slowly walks into the cell.

The Latina greets Nicky's sarcasm with a teeth sucking and a reproachful glare, as per the norm. She gets up from her chair, slamming the magazine back down on the table.

"What do you want, Nichols?" Daddy says, closing some of the distance between herself and the ginger.

That's when the gravity of the situation weighs in.

For fuck's sake, Nicky's just walked into the cell of arguably one of the most powerful people in this prison, Barbara Denning's right hand gal. Daddy's dangerous, that much Nicky knows, and if there's anything she's learned from her time in this place, you do _not _walk into the cell of a drug kingpin (queenpin?) with empty hands and a broken heart needing to be put back together again.

"I...I don't know, man, I…"

Nicky's voice trails off under Daddy's probing gaze.

The redhead isn't usually like this. Usually brash and vulgar and teetering on the edge of unlikable with all her quick words and sarcastic quips.

She's so _quiet _this time.

_Pathetic. _

Daddy must notice this too, because her gaze softens as she takes a few more slow steps towards Nicky.

"You good?"

"Listen, I, I don't know what the fuck I came here for, man," Nicky stammers out, rubbing a hand over her forehead and furrowing her brow.

"Hey, you better not be back on that shit," Daddy snarls, those deep brown eyes darkening even further as she takes Nicky by the arm and squeezes hard enough to bruise.

"Told you I'd never sell to you again, Nichols, and I meant that. You think I want your scary Russian mommy up my ass crack? Hell nah," Daddy says with an incredulous scoff and a furrow of her brow.

"Well, Duarte, I figured you might be into that. Besides, you certainly didn't have a problem with selling to me when my tongue was getting acquainted with your clit," Nicky shoots back, venom rolling off her tongue with every syllable.

And just like that, she's back.

"Yo, that was one time, _gringita_," Daddy says in defense, shooting a look behind Nicky to ensure that no one heard. Couldn't have another crack baby revolution, after all.

"Well, more like three times, if you catch my drift. Or was it four? Shit, I'm gettin' old," Nicky drawls, feigning confusion as she scratches her head through a mass of reddish blonde curls.

Daddy glares at her yet again, her jaw clenched and her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Nicky pauses for a moment, embarrassment burning hot in her chest before running her tongue over her bottom lip. She's gone too far yet again, that much she knows.

"Right, right, too far, my bad," the redhead says before shaking her head vehemently.

"But that's not what I'm here for. I know, I know, _quelle surprise _and all that shit, but, uh…"

Nicky pauses, swallowing the words clawing their way up her throat. She has to be careful this time, _needs _to be careful. She doubts Daddy will stick a shiv between her ribs for not choosing her words carefully, but...

"I guess I just need a little human contact," the redhead finally chokes out, gaze fixated on the dirty, possibly blood stained tiles beneath her feet.

Daddy's upper lip curls into a smirk as she reaches forward, clicking her tongue as her hand slips into the waistband of Nicky's pants.

"Now I know what you want," the Latina whispers, her mouth dangerously close to Nicky's.

The ginger's heart skips a beat, then two, then three as she grabs Daddy's wrist. "No, I- I don't mean like that," Nicky stammers out, and Daddy's hand is out of her pants before she can say another word.

"Yo, I'm sorry, Nichols, I didn't mean-"

Nicky raises a finger, silencing the Latina.

"Don't be sorry. Hey, I'd think the same thing, too, if some bitch walked up to me lookin' for some human contact," Nicky mutters, a melancholy sort of grin dragging itself across her face.

Daddy's frame instantly relaxed. She ran a hand through her hair before tucking her lower lip between her teeth and giving Nicky an expectant look.

"What do you want, then? A hug?" Daddy says, and even though Nicky knows she's being sarcastic, it takes everything in her not to take the Latina in her arms right now.

Fuck, she's so desperate. And not for heroin, and not for sex, and not for Lorna (okay, well, yeah, she's desperate for all those things, who is she kidding?)

But… God, is she desperate to be touched right now. To be _held, _for fuck's sake. To rest her chin on someone's head and to be told everything is going to be alright, even if it's a lie.

"Yeah," Nicky responds, her words thick and heavy like she's just swallowed a spoonful of molasses. But like, really bitter molasses that makes her want to be sick right then and there. Nasty-ass expired molasses, more like it.

Daddy's eyes widen.

"Yeah, I do, kinda," Nicky sheepishly admits, rubbing the back of her neck like a child who's just been caught stealing a cookie, or a middle aged man who's just been caught with his dick in a hooker's mouth.

Daddy rolls her eyes, but there isn't any malice behind the gesture. Instead, she holds out her arms and gives Nicky another one of those expectant looks that sends a jolt up her spine.

Nicky sighs before returning the Latina's embrace, resting her cheek against the top of Daddy's head.

_Dayanara Diaz is one lucky bitch, _Nicky thinks, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You know how it is, right?" Nicky asks, a shaky exhale passing through her lips.

"How what is?" Daddy deadpans, her grip on Nicky unconsciously tightening.

"Well, y'know. Touch. Lack thereof, specifically. You don't get a lot of that in here," Nicky murmurs, absentmindedly running a hand through Daddy's blonde locks.

_So soft, _she thinks. Softer than Nicky expected, really.

"Speak for yourself, bitches be on me like white on rice," Daddy drawls, rubbing small, soothing circles on Nicky's back.

"I'm assuming they're all blind, yeah?"

Daddy laughs, a real, genuine laugh instead of those seemingly relentless smarmy chuckles that Nicky can't help but love.

"You got attitude, Nichols. Can't say I don't like it," Daddy murmurs into her chest, cleaving Nicky even closer.

"Yeah, well, you're one of the few who doesn't."

Nicky can't really believe herself. She must be high again, or maybe she's somehow gone insane from being here. Surely, a logical and/or sober person wouldn't ask a drug dealing pimp for a hug, but then again, Nicky hadn't ever really possessed both those features.

But she needs this. She needs this so bad. She hasn't been touched in months apart from Red's chin grabs and Hellman's merciless body slams, and other than Lorna, Daddy is the closest thing to a friend she has in here.

_Lorna. _

Nicky hasn't talked to Lorna in a while, come to think of it. She's either guessing her baby's gender with that Adeola chick, or on the phone with her fucking cocksucker bitch-face jerkoff asshole husband who hasn't done a thing wrong other than be Lorna's husband.

Wasn't like Nicky could go to her anymore.

Daddy pulls away after what must have been a good ten minutes of them hugging, smoothing Nicky's mane of red hair back as best she can.

"Anything more that I can do for you that doesn't involve sex or drugs or ten minute hugging sessions?" the Latina asks, hands firmly placed on her own hips.

Nicky stays silent, her heart pounding within her chest so loudly that it's a wonder Daddy can't hear shit.

"Uh, well, no, unless you can get me outta here and into Mariska Hargitay's deliciously toned arms," the ginger deadpans, clicking her tongue as she heads toward the door, her movements stiff and awkward and nearly robotic.

"Can't do that for you," Daddy murmurs, propping herself up against the side of the bunk. "Sure there's nothing else I can, though?"

_Yes, _Nicky thinks, _there is something more you can do for me. _Y_ou can kiss me._

But her mouth won't work, and neither will her brain, and her courage meter is extraordinarily low that day, so Nicky Nichols continues to stare in silence.

With that, Daddy plops down on her mattress and pats the empty space next to her, gesturing for Nicky to come closer.

The redhead obliges, knowing she can expect a shot for being in the Latina's cell.

Eh, fuck it. What's another shot on that long, long list of hers?

Daddy wraps an arm around Nicky's khaki clad shoulders, pulling her close. "What's going on with you, Nichols?"

Nicky arches an eyebrow. "What, can't a girl hug her favorite drug-dealing pimp?"

Daddy purses her lips, a crease forming in the midst of her forehead.

Nicky sighs in defeat, her hands clamping down on her knees. "Alright, can't win 'em all, I guess," the ginger mutters.

"This ain't about me_, _this is about you. What's going on? Having trouble with Preggo again?"

There's a brief burst of anger that flares in Nicky's chest at Lorna being referred to as 'Preggo', but it's gone just as quickly as it arrives.

"Well, yeah, kinda," the redhead stammers out, averting her gaze from Daddy's so the Latina doesn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Daddy's far more perceptive than Nicky had thought, apparently, because she turns Nicky's face back to hers and cups her chin with her hands.

"Hey. Tell me, it's okay," Daddy drawls, and Nicky's heart melts when the Latina tucks a red curl behind her ear.

That's when she decides- so help her God, Nicky Nichols is gonna kiss this bitch today.

"I've never been much for words, Duarte," Nicky says, moistening her bottom lip as her heart begins to race again.

Daddy arches an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I tend to express my feelings better with, uh, touching," the redhead mumbles, so quietly that she's not so sure what she's said in the first place.

And with that, Nicky Nichols leans forward and kisses Daddy square on the mouth.

Daddy doesn't pull away, or slap her, or scream at her, or do any of the things Nicky thought she would.

No, instead, Daddy kisses her back, hands tangling in her hair and tongue slipping urgently into her mouth.

Nicky's eyes shoot open with shock, with the sudden lightning bolt of realization that this is _actually_ happening.

Oh, sweet fucking mother. Nicky hasn't felt like this since she laid eyes on a certain doe eyed Italian that she tries not to think about anymore, or since she slipped her hand into the pants of a girl with long dark hair and secretary glasses.

So, always one for tradition, Nicky pushes Daddy away.

"Yo, what the fuck?" Daddy snaps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She's surprised, taken aback, maybe even a little offended, and Nicky doesn't really blame her.

A shaky exhale passes through Nicky's kiss bruised lips as she heads for the door, her heart resuming an erratic, panicked rhythm. What was she thinking? What the _hell _was she thinking, walking into Daddy's cell like she fuckin' owned the place, begging for a hug like some goddamn five year old with no sense of boundaries?

This was stupid. _She _was stupid.

Nicky mumbles an apology, nearly tripping over her own feet as she tries to scramble away.

"Wait, wait, hold up, Nichols," Daddy calls, grabbing the ginger by the sleeve and pulling her back before she can make her grand exit.

Nicky gives the Latina an exasperated look, wrenching away from her grip. "That didn't mean anything, man, you of all people should know that," the ginger says, her throat and mouth painfully dry from her lies.

"Bullshit. I saw that look," Daddy drawls, her words suave and smooth and warm enough to send chills up Nicky's spine.

"What look?" Nicky chokes out, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. Her heart is racing and her palms are sweaty and she feels like she's going to throw up, and this is the best and worst thing she's ever fucking done in her life.

"The look you gave me before you kissed me," Daddy whispers, twirling a single red curl around her finger. A smirk plays across her lips. "The look you're givin' me right now."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Duarte," Nicky says, and the lie feels like a stripe of fire unfurling against her tongue.

"Hey, it's okay. Nobody's gotta know about your little crush on me," the Latina replies, and her hand moves from Nicky's hair to her neck.

Nicky swallows the spit that's accumulated in her mouth and averts her gaze, the knot of nerves in her chest growing tighter with each passing second.

Jesus. How's she gonna get herself out of this one?

"Daya doesn't have to know, Preggo doesn't have to know, none of these other bitches have to know that Nicky Nichols wants herself a daddy," the Latina says, and every word that rolls off her tongue sends a fresh jolt of… _something _into Nicky's chest.

"I...I don't want a daddy, I just want… someone," Nicky spits out, and at last, her eyes drift up to meet Daddy's.

"I want you," the redhead says, and her voice is throaty and raw and she thinks she can taste blood.

Fuck. Nicky can't believe this, she can't believe that she's been reduced to a shy, bumbling, awkward mess over some stupid schoolgirl crush that just might get her killed. Just like that, she's back in seventh grade, but Daddy isn't some cunty brunette straight girl making fun of Nicky for her lack of the newest Gucci sneakers.

Daddy kisses her again, so gently that Nicky doesn't even realize it's happening at first. And Nicky kisses her back, of course, because she is an idiot and so is Daddy if she's kissing her right where her little crack baby cult can see.

The Latina's hands softly cup Nicky's face, bringing her in even closer, deeper. Her hands slide down Nicky's waist and they stay there as her tongue slides into the redhead's mouth again.

God, she misses Lorna. She misses Lorna more than anything, misses her so much that it physically fucking hurts, an incurable ache, a bottomless void in her chest that will never be filled no matter who she sleeps with.

Tears spill past Nicky's eyes and roll down her cheeks, staining the khaki of her uniform and making the hollow space in her chest burn. She stops kissing Daddy, instead opting to collapse on the Latina's bunk and start sobbing uncontrollably, head buried in her hands and cheeks red.

The only word that runs through her mind, tattooing itself on her frontal lobe is _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck-_

And she's sobbing so hard, so fucking hard that she can't breathe, and-

Daddy takes her in her arms and rests her chin on the top of Nicky's head, whispering soft, soothing words that the ginger can barely register at all.

"Shit, shit, fuck, man, I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm doin' here-"

"Yo, shut up, Nichols. I got you," Daddy whispers, and Nicky goes limp and boneless in her arms despite the harshness in her words.

The ginger's shoulders heave with every violent sob that is wracked from her body, and her throat burns even harder with every fruitless gasp for breath. Daddy's grip tightens around her even as she smooths Nicky's hair back with her free hand, and the sheer feeling of comfort and safety is enough to elicit a fresh set of sobs.

"It's okay, Nichols," Daddy murmurs, soft and gentle and nothing like she usually is. She kisses the top of Nicky's head, her lips lingering a little longer than necessary as Nicky's hands clutch at her back.

Sooner or later, well, later, Nicky's red rimmed eyes that still shimmer with tears begin to close, for only the briefest of seconds at first, and then for almost a full minute. Shit, is she really beginning to fall asleep in here? Now, _that _takes the idiot cake, yes ma'am-

"It's okay," Daddy says. "The guards don't give a fuck what kind of company I keep."

_It's okay. _

Oh, fuck. Daddy is such an excellent liar.

And Nicky is willing to keep believing whatever lies Daddy feeds her for the foreseeable future.

Even if it fucking kills her.


	2. Chapter 2

"So you just gonna ignore me forever?"

Nicky spins around, eyes wide and hands instinctively trying to cover herself.

"Hey, what the _fuck_, man? You think it's okay to just creep up on people in the shower?" the redhead shouts, her complaints barely audible over the relentless spray of the bathwater.

Daddy smirks, crossing her arms and eyeing Nicky with a careful slowness that makes the ginger's stomach churn.

"Fuck off, Duarte. For serious," Nicky snarls, pretending to scrub that cheap-ass conditioner from commissary into her scalp.

Daddy's eyes soften and widen in hurt, but her jaw clenches and her brow furrows so quickly that Nicky nearly chalks it up to her imagination.

She was probably still feeling the effects of having a bookshelf slammed onto her head by a bunch of lovely and vivacious C-Block bitches, or maybe someone had laced her water with shrooms.

Wouldn't be the first time.

"Listen, Nichols, I did you a fuckin' favor," Daddy barks, sending a jolt of adrenaline into Nicky's stomach.

"Hey, man, listen. You didn't do jack shit for me, alright? Just 'cause I cried into your chest once don't mean that we gotta be scissor sisters til' the end of time. I wanted someone to hold, you were there, end of story," Nicky says, every word of the lie feeling like knives rumbling around in her stomach.

Daddy doesn't believe her. It's obvious by the tilt of her head, the pursing of her lips and the darkening of her eyes.

"It didn't mean anything. Come on, man, you used to be a pimp, for Pete's sake. You know how the game goes," Nicky continues, letting the soap suds drift down her body and down into the drain.

To the Latina's credit, Daddy's not ogling her- just staring deep into her soul and picking her apart piece by piece. A significant improvement in Nicky's opinion.

"Hey, you came into my cell all 'oh, Daddy, I need a little human contact, can I hug you, Daddy?' so don't be actin' like you don't give a shit about me. About us," Daddy snarls, leaning against the wall and crossing her ankles. There's a bite in her voice that Nicky hasn't heard since her last stay here, not since-

"What about your girlfriend? She finally realized you don't got a dick?" It's a lame jab, something Daddy's probably heard before, but it's all the ammunition Nicky has.

A deep sigh.

"Daya and I ain't together no more."

Nicky clicks her tongue disapprovingly, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her body. "Come on, Duarte. What do they tell you in high school?"

Daddy lets out another deep sigh, rubbing her forehead with her hand.

"Never fall for a straight girl. I know, I know, I'm a terrible dyke," the Latina grumbles, plopping down on the bench across from the showers. A melancholy sort of chuckle falls from her lips, sad and self-condoning.

"Well, I can't really talk. I told you about Lorna, right?" Nicky deadpans, carefully stepping out of the shower and taking a seat on the bench next to Daddy.

"The love of your life? The best pussy you've ever had? Nah, never heard of her," Daddy says in response, her voice dripping with pure, unadulterated sarcasm.

"Real funny. Anyway, how about you just go on your merry way, and I go on mine, and we don't ever fuckin' talk again? Sounds like a plan, Stan. See you never," Nicky says hurriedly, clapping the Latina on the shoulder before grabbing her shower caddy and attempting to make like Jesse Owens.

"No," Daddy says softly, gently tugging on Nicky's towel. "Don't go."

Nicky slowly sits back down, heart pounding an erratic rhythm in her chest. Her hands shake by her sides, and the butterflies in her stomach threaten to choke her.

"Okay," the redhead says softly, and Daddy grabs her by the face and presses her lips against Nicky's.

_Not my weirdest Wednesday afternoon, _Nicky thinks to herself, letting Daddy shove her down to the bench.

They're not unfamiliar with each other, after all. Might as well be a trip down memory fuckin' lane.

This is stupid, of course. She knows that much. She's letting herself get played by pretty brown eyes and an addictive cocky swagger. That's Nicky's job, after all. She's the fuck 'em then leave 'em, the Shane McCutcheon of Litchfield.

But when Daddy's hand finds its way between her thighs, all her thoughts and worries and comparisons to sex-addicted 2000s television characters melt away.

She'll worry about the consequences later.


	3. Chapter 3

They go three days without speaking.

That's fine by Nicky, of course.

They're too alike, she tries to tell herself.

All sharp corners and rough edges and cocky attitudes that get annoying eventually, because there's nothing left underneath their respective facades.

So no, the concept of 'them' or 'us' as Daddy put it would remain just that- a concept. They were never going to be kissy-huggy girlfriends, making everyone in the near vicinity jealous as all hell.

And Nicky pretended she was okay with that. She'd kept up the strong, tough dyke thing for years and years, after all. A pair of big brown eyes and a weirdy sexy self-assured bravado wasn't going to tear her down and make her walls crumble.

She's better than that.

But Nicky's heart still drops to her stomach when she walks into the common room and sees Daddy leaning over Diaz's shoulder, tucking a lock of curly brown hair behind the younger woman's ear.

_"This ain't about me , this is about you. What's going on? Having trouble with Preggo again?" _

_There's a brief burst of anger that flares in Nicky's chest at Lorna being referred to as 'Preggo', but it's gone just as quickly as it arrives._

_"Well, yeah, kinda," the redhead stammers out, averting her gaze from Daddy's so the Latina doesn't see the tears welling up in her eyes. _

_Daddy's far more perceptive than Nicky had thought, apparently, because she turns Nicky's face back to hers and cups her chin with her hands. _

_"Hey. Tell me, it's okay," Daddy drawls, and Nicky's heart melts when the Latina tucks a red curl behind her ear._

Nicky begs herself to look away.

She begs and pleads and silently screams at herself to look away, to pretend like she doesn't give a fuck.

But when Daddy's gaze meets with hers, and a cocky smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, Nicky can't help but fall apart.

_No, not here, _she thinks, racing into her cell and slamming the door shut behind her.

She knows she'll get a shot for it, but that's the last goddamn thing on her mind right now.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Nicky mutters, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and pulling as hard as she can. She has to feel something else other than the burning numbness within her chest, the hollow ache in her stomach.

More than anything, she wishes she was high.

She still craves it, of course. Every fuckin' junkie on the planet misses drugs, no matter how long they've been clean, no matter if they've covered up their track marks with tattoos and a white picket fence and 2.5 children.

Nicky has to miss it most of all, she thinks. Jesus fucking Christ, she could practically jizz in her pants at the thought of running her tongue over the little plastic seam.

_Just a little taste, _she used to tell herself. _A little taste won't hurt_.

But it always did.

"Hey."

Nicky gasps (something she never does, she's not some damsel in distress from a goddamn Disney movie) and turns around, only to see Daddy leaning against the doorway.

"Shit man, you scared the hell out of me. Don't do that," Nicky says condescendingly, plopping down on her mattress and burying her head in her hands.

Daddy lets out a small chuckle. "Just wanted to check up on you. You looked like a deer in headlights out there, Nichols," she drawls, strolling into the cell and sitting down on that insanely uncomfortable piece of metal that they dare to call a stool.

"Fuck off," the redhead growls, pointing a solitary finger to the door of the cell. "Get out."

As much as Nicky wants it to, the bite in her voice doesn't distract from the shaking of her hands, or the tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

She's weak. That's the undeniable truth, the pounding in her brain that's been there since Marka didn't even bother to read her Mother's Day card. Hell, the only reason she's managed to survive in this shithole is because of Red, and Red won't even look at her no more-

"What's wrong, baby? I hurt your feelings?" Daddy whispers, venom laced through every sugary-sweet word. She grabs Nicky by the chin, leaving crescent shaped marks that would sting for hours after.

"Fuck you, Duarte," Nicky snarls, shoving the Latina away. The burning numbness in her chest has returned, and so has the hollow ache low in her stomach. She can't decide if she wants to tear Daddy a new one, or kiss her until the both of them are breathless.

And maybe a sick part of her likes it that way.

"Your hands aren't clean either, Nichols. You up and left me without a word, so don't be actin' innocent," Daddy snarls, low and raspy as she jabs a finger against Nicky's chest.

"I didn't even fuckin' know I was being transferred back up the hill, what did you want me to do, man? Send you a smoke signal, or an origami swan or some shit?" Nicky shouts, rage whooshing through her veins.

Christ, this had to be the dumbest argument she ever had, and she once argued with Gina about what was the better part of the spork: The spoon or the fork.

She'd won that, anyhow. Forks were better.

Before she can stop herself, she leaps up from her mattress and shoves Daddy against the wall. No, it wasn't smart to fuck with the top dog's right hand, but Nicky had been on an impeccable bad decisions streak lately that she didn't plan to break.

A hint of fear flashes across Daddy's features, but she fixes Nicky with a steely, ice cold gaze and grabs her wrists hard enough to bruise.

"You left me alone, Nichols. You don't get to act all fuckin' high and mighty," Daddy spits, fire burning behind those big brown eyes. She ought to take a shiv to Nicky's throat, press until the skin breaks, _yes, _watch the blood stain the razor and drip down her hand-

But there's no way in hell she can bring herself to.

Because this smart-mouthed, gorgeous, despicable, hilarious, idiotic redheaded _cunt _is the love of her life, and there ain't jack shit she can do about it no more.

"I didn't want to leave you," Nicky says softly, so gently that Daddy isn't sure she's said anything at all.

"Yes, I wanted to get the fuck out of here. Who wouldn't? But never, _ever, _for a _minute, _did I want to leave you. Do you know why?" Nicky growls, and _holy fuck Nichols is hot when she's angry- _

Daddy's grip on Nicky's wrists loosens, and the burning hatred she's been staring at the redhead with begins to fade.

"Because I fucking love you," Nicky says, her voice a low, infuriated whisper that makes Daddy's heart skip a beat.

"So get over your shit and tell me what the fuck you want, because I feel like I'm one of the Three Stooges when there's really only two of-"

Daddy slams her lips against Nicky's, teeth clashing and hands tangling in hair. There's nothing tender or sweet about it, and maybe, just _maybe, _they like it that way.

"_That's _what the fuck I want, Nichols," Daddy hisses, shoving Nicky away and leaving her cell without another word.

Nicky feels a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, lips kiss bruised and chest heaving with every breath.

"Well, Duarte, you're in luck, 'cause that's what I want too," she whispers to an empty room, clit throbbing underneath her khakis.


End file.
